


The Healing Power of the Alphabet

by Callisto



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fever, Gen, Illnesses, Influenza, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-08
Updated: 2011-04-08
Packaged: 2017-10-17 18:31:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/179924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callisto/pseuds/Callisto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Nothing else for it, he would have to kick Sam’s ass for this. It had to be his fault somehow, because he, Dean Winchester, did not come down with things. Ever. Not until he’d started sharing a room and a car with his pansy-ass brother again.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Healing Power of the Alphabet

If Dean knew it wouldn’t hurt him more than his brother, he’d yell.

Another bang from the small kitchenette Dean couldn’t quite see from the bed.

“Sorry!”

“Goddammit, Sam!” What the hell. But it was pathetic. It came out more of a croak than a yell, and any potential for big-brother severity was lost in the series of coughs rattling up in its wake.

Dean slumped back on the pillow. He was exhausted, fed up, and not even in the mood to poke fun at the Buffy reruns Sam had left on especially for him. Nothing else for it, he would have to kick Sam’s ass for this. It had to be his fault somehow, because he, Dean Winchester, did not come down with things. Ever. Not until he’d started sharing a room and a car with his pansy-ass brother again.

“What?

Dean blinked. Apparently he must have said some of that out loud.

“Um. Nothing.” Sam was carrying a tray very slowly across the room toward him, tongue out in concentration. Dean groaned. Great, the kid was probably going to try and give him friggin’ vegetables. Or maybe, heaven help them both, a salad.

“Sam? Thanks for the thought and everything, but seriously I’m good right now.”

“Yeah, so I can hear, Dean.”

Dean scowled, but he had just kind of disproved his own argument by wheezing his way to a whisper by the end of the sentence, so the whole ass-kicking thing was clearly going to have to wait. But he was still Dean Winchester, and sick or not, he was not putting one steamed stick of broccoli anywhere except Sam’s—

“Soup. You made me soup, Sammy.”

There it was, all red and tomatoey and steamy. And just... soup. Wow.

He looked at it more carefully while Sam slowly positioned a pillow one handed on his lap, and then settled the tray more fully onto Dean’s blanketed legs.

“Well, duh. I wanted...you’re sick. Soup’s good when you’re sick.”

Sam was looking embarrassed and Dean wasn’t really sure why. Then he realized that it was probably because he’d done nothing but snap and growl at his brother for the last two days. Sam was also looking like he didn’t quite know where to put himself now he’d handed the tray over, and Dean seemed to remember a thermometer hurled at Sam’s head at one point during the heat and shivers of the previous night.

He moved his legs a little, careful not to spill, and then waved his spoon at the space it opened up next to him. Sam took his cue and sat down carefully, right leg crooked up on the bed so he could face Dean.

“So, how is it?” Sam asked.

All Dean could do was groan with relief when the first spoonful went down. His throat felt soothed for the first time in days. He lifted the spoon up again, squinted at what looked like an A and...yes, an X, and raised a quizzical eyebrow at his brother. Who was biting his bottom lip and looking even more awkward.

“I saw the can at the store this morning and just... I remembered, okay?”

Dean shook his head, not about to get mad. Jesus, alphabet spaghetti. Sam had gotten really sick with his tonsils when he was about five, and the only way Dean had been able to get him off his favorite ice cream and onto canned soup, was by dumping the alphabet in there.

Dean nudged Sam’s knee with his own from under the blanket. “Goddamn but you were a pain in the ass back then.” He slurped up another mouthful and cleared his throat, liking the fact that he could suddenly talk again. “I had to fish around in those damn things and feed you your name before you’d take a mouthful.”

“And I insisted on ‘Sammy’, right?”

“Yeah. And then I just about drowned you in it when you wanted ‘Winchester’.”

They both smiled, one at the other, and Dean’s chest felt looser than it had in days.

“Not over yet, dude.” Sam was looking decidedly smug now. “Wait a sec.”

Dean carried on eating and steeled himself for a vegetable or two. He could do it. Just this once.

Something very, very cold landed in his lap.

“Rocky Road, Dean. My favorite, but I’ll let you have dibs.”

******


End file.
